


honourable intentions

by honestground



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Link is a pillar of self-restraint, Masturbation, Seduction, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Tent Sex, Vaginal Sex, also Bolson is there but not for any sexy reason, until Zelda does THAT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 12:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestground/pseuds/honestground
Summary: They had talked about this—about keeping up appearances of a purely professional relationship until Zelda is coronated and they could safely announce their courtship, but Link already finds himself missing her. Just two days and they would be back in Hateno, where they revelled in near-anonymity and could truly be alone, but it would be the longest they’d gone without sharing a bed in weeks.(or, Link attempts to resist Zelda's feminine wiles, fails miserably)





	honourable intentions

****The planning of the Castle Town rebuild had been an arduous process, and Zelda had insisted on being informed and involved at every step. The blueprints themselves had taken months of work, and she had surveyed the build site and examined and tested the materials and hand-picked the tradesmen personally.

Eight months, it had been. Eight months since Ganon’s downfall, eight months of relentless work, and the foundations for New Castle Town had finally been laid. Bolson had invited both of them down to visit the site, to iron out any final details, and to begin preparations on the castle restoration. "This is it,” Zelda keeps saying on the ride over to Central Hyrule. “This is _it_ , Link.”

They arrive onsite by horseback, and Zelda squeezes his hand gratefully as he helps her dismount, but pulls away quickly when Bolson comes over to greet them. They had talked about this—about keeping up appearances of a purely professional relationship until Zelda is coronated and they could safely announce their courtship, but Link already finds himself missing her.

 _Two days_ , Link reminds himself, watching Zelda walk ahead with Bolson, eager to see the results of all her work. Just two days and they would be back in Hateno, where they revelled in near-anonymity and could truly be alone, but it would be the longest they’d gone without sharing a bed in weeks.

They had arrived before lunchtime, but the tour of the site takes nearly all day. There was much to go over, and Zelda is nothing if not thorough. More than once she almost dances with joy at seeing all of her planning coming to fruition, and when Bolson shows her the area sectioned off for what would become the new tech lab, she’s almost reduced to tears.

They join the crew later for _family dinner_ , as Bolson calls it—Link making some minor changes to the stew so it’s more palatable—talking and laughing and getting to know the tradesmen, until the sun has long set, and Bolson reminds them of their early start tomorrow.

“I’ll show you to the boudoir,” he says, and Link and Zelda exchange a glance.

 _The boudoir_ turns out to be a small but elaborate tent, complete with a portable fireplace with chimney, a slightly gaudy candlelit chandelier hanging from the roof supports, and a beautiful embroidered rug spread over the grassy floor. The bedroll is nearly as thick as a mattress, and piled high with pillows. It’s all rather excessive for such a small space and such a short visit, but all very _Bolson_ , and when Zelda tells him it’s unnecessary, he insists.

“Only the finest lodgings for our honoured guest,” he practically sings. “And my men are working around the clock, so Link won’t be lonely standing guard outside tonight.”

Link straightens up a little at his words, and he notices Zelda's smile is slightly forced as she grasps both of Bolson’s hands. “Thank you again, Bolson. For everything. I am forever indebted to you.” 

“Oh, aren’t you a doll,” Bolson gushes. He releases Zelda’s hands and pats Link’s shoulder. “You keep her safe, you hear?”

They both pause for a moment at the mouth of the tent, waiting until Bolson is at a safe distance, then Zelda grabs Link’s wrist and pulls him inside behind her even as he hisses in protest. “Princess—”

“Hush,” she says, and pulls him in for a kiss. 

Against his better judgement, Link immediately melts against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. It had barely been a day, but he’d become so accustomed to her casual touches that it had felt alien to go without. The kiss is brief and a little clumsy because neither of them can stop smiling, and they pull apart, laughing. 

"I can’t believe this is really happening,” Zelda says, practically vibrating with excitement. She grasps the front of his tunic, eyes shining with joy. “ _Progress_ , Link—the library and the schoolhouse and the _lab,_ did you see—?”

“I saw.” Link pulls back a little, grinning, running his hands up her arms. “Is this everything you wanted, Princess?”

“ _Everything_ ,” she says in a rush of breath, and then she drags him forward to kiss him again, hot and insistent and clear in intention. A low groan reverberates through Link’s chest and catches in his throat, and she pushes back with her mouth, chasing the sound, her nimble fingers finding their way under his shirt.

“Come to bed,” Zelda murmurs, thumbs tracing his abdomen and teasing at his waistband. “We should celebrate.”

As much as Link would like to lay her down and take her right here on the embroidered rug that lines the tent floor, he sighs and pulls away. “I can’t, Zelda,” he says, laying his forehead against hers. “You heard Bolson. They’ll be working though the night—I’ll be missed.”

“You’ll be missed in here, too,” Zelda says. 

“It’s improper.” 

“I don’t care.”

He knows she isn’t really fighting him; they had discussed and agreed to this days ago. “I care,” he says, and he gently removes her hands from beneath his tunic. “I’m your knight—what would people think?” 

Zelda gives him a coy smile. “Are you _ashamed_  of me, hero?” 

In response, he ducks his head to kiss her again. He had meant it to be chaste but it quickly turns deeper, slow and warm and languid, and Zelda pulls him forward by his tunic so he’s flush against her again. She makes an interested noise into his mouth when his hips automatically press forward, searching for friction, and Link sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

He steps back quickly, reminding himself, _just two days._ “I will not yield to your feminine wiles, Princess,” he says. “As much as I would like to.”

Zelda grins at him smugly, even as he retreats toward the entrance. “I can be quiet,” she offers, following him.

Link chuckles. “No, you can’t.”

“You could gag me,” she suggests, and laughs when Link pauses in the doorway, clearly torn. She leans in to kiss him again—chastely, this time. “Goodnight, Link.” 

 _Goddess, save me._ “I’ll be right outside,” he says, giving her hand one last squeeze. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Anything,” Zelda promises, and Link finally tears himself away.

Outside in the open air, Link does some deep breathing, trying not to think about the Princess of Hyrule undressing for bed not six feet away, separated from him by nothing but canvas. It’s midsummer, and a warm night; Zelda probably wouldn’t even need a nightgown if she has the fire going—

Link drags a hand over his face. _Two days._ He strips off any extraneous armour, hangs his tunic up, and settles cross-legged at the mouth of the tent to begin his nightly routine of weapon maintenance. He draws the Master Sword and starts polishing with probably more vigour than necessary, trying to ignore the rustling of fabric from inside the tent. 

Nearly two hours later, the moon hangs high in the sky, its silver-blue hue reflecting brightly in the thrice-polished blade of the sword. A string of lanterns have been lit for the night, bathing the common area in a soft golden glow. True to Bolson’s word, his crew is still milling about, carting materials around and going over blueprints, but most of them had retreated to the fire for late supper. 

Link is thinking about restringing his bow again when—

“Link. _Link_.”

It’s Zelda’s voice, quiet but urgent from inside the tent, and he’s on his feet and through the canvas doorway with his sword drawn in an instant. His eyes quickly adjust to the dim light cast by the candles and fire, only to find her sitting up expectantly on her bedroll, wearing nothing but a smile. 

She has her knees drawn up to her chest and ankles crossed in a way that Link might describe as _demure_  if it weren’t for the utterly sultry expression on her face. She sweeps her long hair back off her shoulder and just the sight of her exposed neck and collarbones is enough to hold his attention, eyes tracing the slight swell of her breasts and the barest hint of nipple that appears over the tops of her knees whenever she takes too deep a breath. 

He’s seen it before—all of it, all of her. He’s explored and traced every inch of her body with his hands and mouth and tongue, but—

"Zelda,” Link warns. Pleads, almost. “I can’t.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she tells him, and then she shifts her legs forward, revealing herself to him from the waist up, and Link finds himself rooted to the spot in the doorway as her palms smooth over her breasts. She pinches a nipple suddenly and gasps softly, as if she weren’t expecting it, keeping her eyes trained on Link’s face. He knows she’s overacting, that it’s all for show—but still, he can’t look away.

"I know what you’re doing,” Link says quietly, even as he watches her hips shift as she rubs her thighs together. “It won’t work.”

Zelda lets out a fluttering laugh. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

She uncrosses her ankles and parts her knees, just a little, just enough that he can see her in the firelight. Her hand comes down, and she dips her fingers down between her legs, just for a moment. Her fingertips come away glistening, and Link curses under his breath. 

“Zelda—”

“Are you staying or leaving?” Zelda holds his gaze as her fingers start to move, tracing over soft folds of skin like it’s unfamiliar territory. 

Her fingers are circling now, legs spreading wider, and Link feels almost lightheaded with watching her, from the heat inside the tent, or all his blood rushing elsewhere. “I’ll stay,” he says, mouth dry.

She makes a satisfied noise, smirking, and then she leans back. He hears her breathing hitch, sees her hips jerk forward and her toes curl, and he feels the growing pressure within himself as he watches her speed up. Her jaw goes slack and she sinks down onto the pillows, moving with a purpose, now; working towards a goal.

She slips two fingers inside herself, gasping as she rocks slightly against her hand, her eyes still fixed on his face, and maybe she’s close or maybe she’s faking but Link stops caring the second she says his name—breathy and thick and heavy with wanting—and all the fight leaves him.

He drops the sword and crosses the tent in three long strides, and then he falls to his knees. He crawls the last few feet to her bedroll, drinking in every sound she makes, every breath and every whine, until he’s inches from her and ravenous. 

He reaches for her, and Zelda plants her foot firmly on his chest, toes just curling over his shoulder, keeping him at a distance. She halts in her ministrations, breathing hard, and Link realises that he’s nearly panting, too. Her voice shakes just a little when she speaks, but her eyes glint with mischief. “Does this mean you yield, sir knight?”

“Yes,” Link says. 

“Say it.”

“I yield.”

She holds his gaze, completely still, clearly just torturing him at this point. He lowers his eyes to where she opens herself to him, and she removes her fingers and whimpers a little at the loss, and a broken, desperate noise catches in Link’s throat.

He says, “ _Please._ ”

Zelda grasps his hair, slides her leg over his shoulder, and draws him in.

Link wraps his arms around her thighs and hips, dragging her closer, and when he closes his mouth over her he moans in relief. He can feel how worked up she is, how much she wants him, and he wastes no time teasing her, bearing down hard with the flat of his tongue.

He wants her so badly he’s aching, flat on his stomach and shamelessly rutting against the bedroll as she grips his hair like a vice, guiding him the way she wants it and grinding up to meet him. She has her other hand over her mouth, trembling with the effort of keeping silent—but he wants to hear her, _needs_  to, so he slips two fingers into her, pushing and curling, and her head falls back with a high-pitched cry.

Link rocks his face against her, losing himself to the friction of it, her warmth and tightness around his fingers and the bittersweetness of her on his tongue. He gives a gratified groan and he knows that she feels it more than she hears it, her hips snapping forward of their own accord, and he can _taste_  how close she is—and then she says, “Wait, wait—stop—”

He draws back immediately, slightly mystified, but then she drags him up by his hair to kiss him, open-mouthed and sweet and filthy, tugging helplessly at his belt and trousers with her free hand. “All of you,” she mumbles, working clumsily at fabric and buttons. 

“Someone could hear us,” Link says, a little breathless, chasing her kiss.

She leans in close, whispers hotly against his lips: "Then _hurry_.”

Link quickly shucks his shirt and climbs onto the bedroll with her, the two of them frantically working together to get his belt undone and trousers just low enough for Link to free himself. He hooks his hands under Zelda’s knees, drawing her legs up higher and pushing her back onto the pillows as she reaches down to guide him to her.

He kisses her again as he moves inside her, and her moan vibrates through him so hard he thinks he might shatter. 

Link stills for a moment, breathing hard and reeling. He will never be used to this—the feeling of her bare and soft against him, warm and tight around him, opening to him in the most intimate of ways. “Move,” she breathes, and Link withdraws almost fully before pushing forward again, and her back arches clear off the pillows.

He wants to draw it out, to make love to her long and slow, but she’s so sensitive and he’s so worked up that he knows this won’t last long. Still, he rocks into her at an unhurried pace, settling into the rhythm he knows she likes and not for the first time, he marvels at how easy this is with her, how well they fit together.

He’s bracing himself with both hands, Zelda’s legs hooked over his forearms, her fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders. She whines, “ _Harder,_ ” and Link shifts his hips for a better angle, drives in deep and fast and he’s _so close_.

They’re too far gone to kiss now, movements short and frantic. Zelda barely attempts to hold back her cries as she pushes forward to meet his thrusts, errant drops of sweat tracing her collarbones and Link's face pressed against her neck, panting hot and heavy against her skin.

"I love you,” Link whispers desperately, lost in heady moans and heat and touch, “I love you so much.”

“I know,” Zelda says, and even though she’s whispering too her words are almost deafening, “I love you, _I love you_ _—_ oh, Goddess, don’t stop _—don’t stop—_ ” 

They reach their peak together in a tangle of sweaty limbs, mouths clumsily meeting again to stifle their cries, bodies surging against each other again and again, riding it out until they come down hard, trembling and panting. 

Spent, Link rolls them onto their sides, still inside her. Zelda holds him tight to her chest, breaths heavy and sated, the gradual slowing of her heartbeat almost lulling him to sleep. He presses his face into the juncture of Zelda’s neck and shoulder, thinking maybe he _should_ just stay here. It’s getting late, and if he’s up early enough, nobody would notice—

That train of thought ends abruptly when a soft, melodious voice from outside the tent slices through their afterglow. “Master Link?”

“Bolson,” Zelda hisses, at the same time Link says, “ _Shit_.”  

Link immediately withdraws from her and stands, almost tripping on his trousers, which have gravitated to his knees. He hikes them up and haphazardly starts buttoning them one-handed whilst patting down his hair. “Shirt—where’s my shirt?” 

“Here,” Zelda says quickly, rummaging around in the pillows before holding out the garment, and when Link steps up close to take it she grabs his face, drags him down and kisses him filthily, all tongue and teeth, flustering him even further. 

“I love you,” she says when she pulls away, and shoves him towards the tent opening. “Now _get out_.”

He’s barely pulled the shirt over his head when he stumbles out of the tent—and directly into Bolson. 

A long silence stretches out between them as Bolson takes in his disheveled appearance with wide eyes. Link takes a moment to consider how this looks: the Princess of Hyrule’s appointed knight, red-faced with tousled hair and clothing in absolute disarray, making a hasty and ungraceful exit from said Princess’s lodgings in the middle of the night, and he promptly starts making deals with the Goddess regarding the ground opening up and swallowing him.

“Well,” Bolson says eventually, “aren’t you perky?” 

“I was just...” Link tries, voice hoarse, reddening even further under Bolson’s gaze. “... tucking her in.”

The tradesman stares at him, eyebrows raised, until his mouth slowly spreads into a small smile. “Okey-doo,” he chirps. “Just letting you know that Karson just unloaded the ale, and there’s still plenty of food, so feel free to join us.” 

“... okay,” Link says, still cautious, hardly daring to believe that he’s gotten away with it. “Thanks.”

Bolson gives him another once-over, pursing his lips. Then he clears his throat, leans in close, and says, “The princess isn’t all that needs tucking in, stud.”

He struts off, and Link watches him go in a daze, head still clouded from what just transpired in the tent, until Bolson’s words finally sink in and he looks down at himself in alarm. 

_“Fuck.”_


End file.
